Pills
by x0x0shy
Summary: Songfic. What happened between the time Sam died and the divorce?


_I hope my smile can distract you. Hope my fists can fight for two, so it never has to show, and you'll never know._

Nathan Ford sat in a bar in some part of town he'd never been in. He'd seen the sign, stopped the car, and gone in. It's been nine am when he'd gotten there, who knew what time the time was now. And, moreover, who cared? He had a whole day to burn.

He'd left the house that morning in his suit and tie, briefcase in hand, as a show for Maggie. After Sam died, Nate had never stepped foot back in IYS. He couldn't bear it. He knew it was irresponsible. They were broke. There were mountains of debt leftover from all Sam's treatments and hospital stays...It was precisely the wrong time to walk out on his job.

So he pounded shots of bourbon, or Irish Whiskey, or whatever they'd give him, till some kind bartender cut him off. Then he'd stumble to the next bar and do it all over again. At about five o'clock, he downed as much coffee as he could hold, popped peppermints like a mad man, put drops in his eyes, sat in his car and tried to sober up as best he could.

When he felt safe to drive, he went home to Maggie. She was always on the couch with a cup of tea, bloodshot eyes, and a watery smile. There was a never any food any more, and what used to be a happy home seemed to be crumbling around him.

_I hope my love can blind you. Hope my arms can bind you so you'll never have to see what we've grown to be._

She swallowed her antidepressants down with he tea, and contemplated taking her sleeping pill now too. It was a little early, but Nate would be home soon, and she didn't want him to see. She didn't have the words to explain that without pills, she found herself standing in the doorway of Sam's room all night, thinking she'd heard him cough, or sneeze, or roll over, or call her name.

Plus, the mellow of the antidepressant plus the sleepy of the pill would make it easier to deal with the fact hat Nate was always drinking. She couldn't blame him, she thought, eyeing the prescription bottles she hid in her purse. They all coped in their own way.

Her stomach rumbled, and it occurred to her that it'd been forever since she'd cooked. There'd been a time when she'd gotten great joy from cooking. So, she walked into the kitchen, started pulling out pots and pans and olive oil, some chicken from the freezer, which she popped in the microwave to thaw, and vegetables from the crisper.

_Starch, starch, starch_, she thought, and opened a cabinet to see what looked appealing, when she froze.

There was a box of macaroni and cheese, cut in the shapes of dinosaurs, at the very front of the cabinet. Sam's favorite. She reached a shaking hand out, needing to touch it, needing to feel some connection with her son.

But when her fingers touched the box, there was no connection, there was only cardboard. And it hit her all over again that he was gone. Her baby was gone.

She cried on the kitchen floor until the microwave beeped. Then she rose, put the pots and pans and olive oil away. Chicken back in the freezer. Vegetables back in the fridge. Closed the cabinet door without looking. She poured herself a fresh mug of tea, and returned to the couch.

And thats where she was when Nate came home. Exactly here she always was.

_One may think we're alright, but we need pills to sleep at night. We need lies to make it through the day. We're not okay. _

One day, he came home and she wasn't on the couch, she was sitting at the dining room table. She wasn't drinking tea, there was a bottle of her father's favorite scotch and a shotglass on the table. There was no watery smile, her mouth was set in a hard line. He sat across from her at the table, and waited.

"I called your office today." She began. "I was informed you no longer work for IYS. You can imagine my shock. I asked to speak with Ian directly. Who told me I should probably ask my husband where he was all day, because he hadn't been to work in months."

Nate took a breath to defend himself, and Maggie waited, but when he found he had nothing to say, she continued.

"Before I could call your cell and ask where you were, I got a call from the mortgage company. Because apparently we're two months behind."

Nate's eyes were fixed on the floor. Guilt and shame washed over him in waves. He still didn't have any words for her.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" She asked. He stayed quiet, eyes on his shoes.

"Look at me!" She pleaded. And when he didn't, she threw the shotglass against the wall and screamed, "LOOK AT ME!"

This time he did, because she hadn't raised her voice since before Sam died, and she'd never thrown anything.

She was up now, pacing. "How could you not _tell_ me? I'm your _wife_, Nate! We're supposed to handle these things _together_!" She hurled the aged whiskey into their china cabinet, a mess of glass and brown liquid staining teir beige carpet. And still he had no words for her. He just watched, shocked.

"You don't get to grieve all alone! You don't get to shut the world out! You don't get to shut _me_ out!" She cried. "He was my son too dammit!" She yelled over and over, now taking individual pieces of china nd hurling them at him. "He was my son too!"

And when she was exhausted, she collapsed on the floor in tears. He ran to assist her, worrid she'd cut herself on the glass.

"Don't touch me!" she sobbed, "don't touch me..." And she ran from the room.

He cleaned up the glass from the floor and let himself out quietly.

He needed a drink.

_One may think we're doing fine, but if I had to lay it on the line? We're losing ground with every passing day. We're not okay. _

She stayed in bed for three days. He brought her cereal, and toast, and tea. But she didn't want it. All she wanted was her purse, her pills, and blessed sleep.

He called her parents, borrowed enough from them to catch up on the mortgage. He started looking for work. But mostly, he still just drank, and she still smiled, and they both stayed out of the dining room. - The only place in the house where things looked as broken as they actually were.

_But that's one thing I would never say to you_

She left her ring on the dining room table and went tot stay with her parents for a while. She needed to clear her head.

_But that's one thing I would never say to you_

He sold the house, and sent her half. He got himself a crappy apartment. And when the divrorce papers came, he signed them, because he still had no words for her.


End file.
